Reality TV Shows

Reality television shows have received a bad reputation over the years. The reason why is simple. There is little to no writing behind these shows. Most of the show concepts are either dumb or make the viewers feel stupid just by watching them. Studio executives are not willing to pay for expensive screenwriters or story planners to come up with new program ideas and to write new content on a weekly basis. For this reason, reality TV shows are cheap to make and produce. Advertisers are still charged the same amount based on the length or popularity of the program, but now, the profit margin is larger for the studio execs. But are all reality TV shows really that bad? I don't think so.

There are two benefits to watching reality TV shows:

1. You may actually learn something.
2. You have instant company in a conversational manner.

History Channel on satellite TV has some of the more interesting reality TV shows, such as Pawn Stars, American Pickers, American Restoration, et al. With a show like Pawn Stars, you can learn the tips and tricks of bartering--a skill essential to pawning or selling one's goods. If the exchange of money doesn't interest you, then the history behind each rare or unique item brought in to the Gold & Silver pawn shop should pique your curiosity. It is entertaining and informative mainly due to the researchers who provide the taglines of historical trivia or the experts who appear on the show--from antique gun collectors to forensic signature specialists, there is always someone who knows the story behind each item.

A reality TV show like Ink Master is slightly different. First of all, the show is a competition, much like American Idol or America's Got Talent with the exception that these are professional tattoo artists who seek national fame by winning this competition. For some people, tattoos are considered art; for others, tattoos are simply ink stains upon the human skin. I fall into the latter category.

I never liked tattoos, an attitude passed down to me by my father. One time when I was visiting him in Greece, I bought a small pack of gum that contained a water tattoo of a dolphin. I liked the design, so I wet my upper arm with some saliva and stuck the water tattoo on it. A few seconds of pressure and my dolphin tattoo appeared. No harm, because water tattoos can wash off. But when my father saw it on my arm, he was so outraged that he made me take it off right away. He told me that he would disown me as his son if he ever caught me with a real tattoo. That put the fear in me. I never liked tattoos ever since then.

I still wouldn't get one even though he has passed away and I no longer seek his advice or approval for anything. But seeing these tattoo artists struggle to ply their trade on a reality TV show competition makes me appreciate their art. If it was not put on human skin, I have to admit that these tattoo artists have some real talent--just wish they would put more of it on paper than on a person.

The second point in favor of reality TV shows are their conversation manner, which provides artificial companionship for lonely people stuck at home. You listen to the show's main star or expert--the host of the show's concept--and find yourself almost having a one-sided conversation. Of course, you learn something from the host in the process, but you also feel like someone is there in the room with you, keeping you company.

Take a show like Bar Rescue. A program dedicated to turning around unsuccessful bars and pubs. They even helped Downey's on South Street in Philadelpha--the first hint to me that this was a real show. Not only is it informative and entertaining, but it is also like being at the bar with old friends. Granted, you have to get past Jon Taffer's angry yelling at the bar owners, but you get the familiar feeling of being there when the bar is full after a relaunch. And if you don't get that feeling, then you certainly want to get up off the couch and visit your local bar for some friendly conversation and beers.

The show also has some eye candy for the male viewers. Recent episodes have showcased bars with waitresses clad only in tiny bikinis or other revealing outfits. (The pirate-themed bar episode with the buxom wenches immediately comes to mind.) The sexy, jiggling bodies of the waitresses provide the lonely male viewers with some titilation and another form of artificial companionship. Of course, these types of episodes are done mainly for television rating or to help a struggling reality TV show get approval from studio execs to avoid being axed from next season's program line-up. Not sure if we will see more new episodes of Bar Rescue on Spike TV, but there is no shortage of reality TV shows that provide their audience with informative and entertaining visual delights.

~Andrew K.

Remembering the Cypress Tree

There are places in one's life that are imprinted in the mind and cannot escape memory. These places could be a childhood home, a playground shared with friends, a school where one learned many lessons in life, a vacation spot where sordid adventures happened, or even a cemetery where one laid his father to rest eternally.

A view of the Greek village of Sesklo.

In a remote mountain village in Greece called "Sesklo," where there sits upon the serene hillsides of this agricultural paradise, a small church and cemetery dedicated to Saint Christopher. Only a handful of graves take up what little reserved space is left near the church. It is a forgotten place. Even the Sesklo villagers hardly ever visit their departed loved ones in the small cemetery. That is how Greeks deal with life. They live for the moment, mourn briefly the past, and always push toward the future. But in pushing toward the future, how many have forgotten the past?

It was in Saint Christopher's cemetery that my father was laid to rest back in May 2008, just over four years ago. I still think of him often. I remember the place. Is four years enough to mourn a deceased father? Does it ever end? Or do the melancholy memories reside in the mind until it comes my time to depart this mortal coil? Whatever the case, I cannot forget that day when my father's coffin was lowered into the ground.

A Greek Orthodox Priest

The Greek Orthodox priest was there, fulfilling his clerical duties by reciting last rites---though his yawning disconcerted me. I guess for him, it was just another burial of a local villager. But to me, this was my father. I only have (or had) one in this life of mine. I looked around at my family gathered. Those who were nearest to the grave picked up some lose dirt and threw a few fistfuls into the grave and on top of the coffin. Not sure what this symbolized, but I did the same while tears poured from my eyes like Stygian rivers flowing through Hades. I could not control the outpouring of my emotions.

I tried to show some decorum. I tried to be manly, like my father---who never wept, except for that one moment on his deathbed when he found out (back then) that I was not married (at the time) and he would not live to see a grandchild. I should say, not live to see a "grandson," because that is what he wanted in the end. A grandson named after him, as is the Greek tradition, naming the first son after the grandfather. But he did not live to be a grandfather. He did not live to be much of a father either. But I wept his loss as if it was me leaving this world.


A view of the bell tower of Saint Christopher's Greek Orthodox Church in Sesklo

I will always remember Saint Christopher's cemetery. I will always remember as everyone left my father's grave to return to their cars, how I staggered behind and could not leave. I waited there, underneath a cypress tree, watching the gravedigger shoveling more dry rocky dirt on top of my father's coffin.

It was underneath the lone cypress tree that I buckled. I was on my knees crying with a knotted pain in my gut. I could not leave him there. I cried out to my father who was no longer there---I could not leave him. I could not leave the man who I called "dad" all my life, though he found it easy to leave me and my mother many years ago. It was in his blood. He had to court women. Even then, with his body in repose and given back to the welcoming earth, I still imagined his womanizing soul was in a hurry to arrive in Heaven so that he could skirt-chase some sexy, slender seraphs. I guess that was his way. After all, he was a Kamateros.

~Andrew K.

Black Friday

Black Friday. Not just the day after Thanksgiving, but the day when a nationwide shopping frenzy begins. The one day of the year when retailers can move large quantities of their commercial goods to an unsuspecting consumer populace lulled into a buying trance by the previous night's dining--a large dosage of tryptophan. Yes, that's one of the behaviorial side effects of gluttonously stuffing our faces with turkey on that one Thursday night in late November. We become shopaholics. Lining up like lemmings outside big box stores waiting break through the doors and salivate over merchandise that--give or take a few items--would not benefit our lives if we happened to possess them. But our faculties are incapacitated by big signs promising large savings. We drink up what we see displayed in the storefronts. We become drunken dancers dancing to the delight of department stores. Commercialism at its finest.

We are fools. Fools for spending our hard-earned money on more needless crap in our lives. Do we really need that 90-inch LED TV with the latest 3D technology? Our smaller sets do just fine in entertaining us. Do we really need that expensive sportscar with the large red bow on top? Our smaller rust-bucket sedans do just fine in ferrying us from home to work and back again. Do we really need to buy our children the latest fad toys for Christmas when we know darn well that kids take care of them inversely proportionate to their cost. In other words, the more expensive the toy, then the more likely it will be savagely damaged and flippantly discarded by December 26.

Avoid it. For once in your life, just don't bother with Black Friday. It's a single day on the calendar as meaningless as Groundhog's Day. It's a time-consuming, energy-expending, money-wasting, emotionally-draining day much like Valentine's Day that leaves us bitter than when we first started. It's true, the notion of Black Friday as a national get-out-of-the-red holiday only pops up in the minds of retailers much like Halloween is seen as the mass-consumption candy manufacturers' one day out of the year for overcoming the disapproval of health-conscious parents to peddle their stale, sugary sweet concoctions and rot the teeth of millions of minor minions.

Don't shop. Don't go out Friday. Stay home. Keep your wallet fat and happy. The more money you save (and really "save"---not "save by spending" as retailers would have you believe), the better able you'll be to manage your personal finances. You don't need to buy any of the crap they're selling you. It's cheap quality, it's constructed of plastic, and it's probably made in China. Keep our precious, priceless, devalued dollars in the United States.

~Andrew K.

Skyfall

Having just returned from a late-night showing of the new James Bond film Skyfall, I felt the need to write a brief review and comment on the changing nature of the leading man.

Bond, James Bond---has always been a stalwart figure of male masculinity and the hero who refuses to die. Since the first movies starring Sean Connery in the title role to the new incarnation played by Daniel Craig, I have to wonder what has happened to Bond.

I understand that the times changes. Just look at the technology showcased throughout the Bond franchise. Each successive film pushes the limits of tech advances that when you view an older movie, you have a laugh at how antiquated the old tech now seems. A cassette recorder was state-of-the-art in the 1980's, then CDs took over the 1990's, now we have in Bond movies other microchip technology that makes the mind boggle. So as technology advances and changes for the better, does that mean that Bond must also change?

No. James Bond is one of those quintessential figures in modern-day mythology that is so rooted in the male psyche that changing the nature of Bond will cause a worldwide collapse in male self-esteem. Bond is an archetype. He is the smooth, suave hero who wins at all costs and gets the girl in the process. We admire him for his steadfast self-confidence, for his unwavering principles to crown and country, and for his sophisticated sense of style and manner. Men wish they could be him. Women wish they could have him. The hero out to protect us all even at his own peril. But a new picture of Bond is slowly emerging.

Daniel Craig has promised to breathe new life into the 007 character and reinvigorate the Bond franchise. He certainly accomplished that with his first outting as Bond in the film Casino Royale, but we see an even more different Bond in Skyfall. Perhaps it is the plot that makes this Bond seem tired and old. You almost got the sense that he needed to pause and pop a little blue pill before he bedded the latest lovely lady who crossed his path. Grumpy and aching seem to suit this Bond. What happened to all that superhuman stamina and drive, Mr. Bond? Craig made Bond look really old in Skyfall. It was sad to see this portrayal only because you sense that Bond has gone down a road from where he cannot return.

Make no mistake, there will be other Bond films. There will even be other actors--perhaps men far more capable than Daniel Craig--who will capture the essence behind the man known simply as 007. There will be better plots, I imagine, that will no longer focus on the U.S.S.R. or former KGB spies or anyone associated with Communism or rogue agents or megalomaniacal maniacs bent on world domination. The 1980's are long gone and the Red Scare is no more. We can thank President Ronald Reagan for that. But what of James Bond and Great Britain? It's entirely possible that Bond may himself become a comrade seeing as how politics in the U.S. and the U.K. have shifted decidedly towards Leftist ideology. Imagine a politically correct Bond who fights for the environment instead of country, who battles global warming instead of bad guys. Or imagine a Bond whose allegiance is to Mother Earth rather than to the Queen of England. So much for being a quintessential macho man! Please turn in your pistol and codpiece as your license to manhood has been revoked. By turning Leftist, Bond will become the same kind of male pussies who voted for Obama, an empty suit who fancies himself a sophisticated statesman.

Whatever the case, it is clear that real-world forces are changing Bond and for the worse. He seems almost like a cartoon version of himself. References throughout Skyfall to past James Bond greatness, such as the iconic Aston Martin four-wheeler, fell short. They just served to contrast the old Bonds who had class with the new Bond who seems devoid of real machismo, but Craig tries to convince us otherwise with very good acting. Whether 007 has to adapt to survive remains to be seen. The world has new villains now, Mr. Bond. Will you rise to the challenge? I'm sure you'll get a rise out of that sexy, shapely, red dress. You always had a weakness for the ladies. Thanks for the memories of former great men who portrayed James Bond. Sorry, Daniel Craig, but your latest characterization of our iconic 007 has left us shaken, not stirred.

Skyfall is a skyfail.

~Andrew K.

Thanksgiving and Diabetes

What would Thanksgiving be like without juicy, slow-roasted turkey? What would hungry people eat as their main meal? Would they still serve homemade mashed potatoes like mom makes? Would there still be stuffing without a big roasted bird? Would people open old rusty cans of processed cranberry jelly? Would there be any mouth-watering pumpkin pie? Would there be any freshly baked dinner rolls to dip in the overflowing rivers of gravy? Would there even be Thanksgiving without all this food to feast upon? Quite simply, yes.

Yes, there would be a Thanksgiving. No, I'm not alluding to the historical reason behind this gluttonous feast disguised as a holiday. I'm not even bringing faith and religion into this discussion, whether we should be thankful to God for providing us all these wondrous blessings. Of course, we should be thankful to God. But, I'm being picky here. A turkey. Why? I know. Some people don't like turkey, so they feast on chicken or ham. Vegetarians--and who really gives a flying fuck about them--would probably nosh on some dead dried leaves and sing hyms to Gaia to celebrate their pathetic existence. Nah, it's just the turkey I'm focused on.

So, let me think about it. A big turkey. Big enough to feed a good-sized family. Throw in some side dishes and you have a feast. It's not a chicken, because even the largest chicken doesn't contain enough meat for a big family. Ham--well, let's face it, no one really likes ham--is like the Thanksgiving fruitcake. You give a can of Danish ham to your Jewish or Muslim neighbors for Thanksgiving while not realizing your grave faux pas. Seriously, does anyone really eat ham for Thanksgiving? I guess there are a few folks out there. Pussies!

I can eat turkey. Turkey doesn't have carbohydrates. Carbohydrates are bad. No wait, they're REALLY BAD, especially for me! You see, I was recently diagnosed by my general practice physician as being--not "pre-diabetic"--but full blown diabetic. I'm fortunate in a sense that I don't need insulin shots just yet, but I'm going to need meds, probably starting soon, because diet has not helped me.

I love bread. I pasta. I love pizza. I love french fries. I love all starchy and fatty foods. I love everything that Dr. Atkins' corpse hates! Yeah, he's dead. Good riddance! How dare that deceased health expert bring "carbohydrates" to my attention and make it a dirty word in my nutritional dictionary! Figs! Fuck! Shit...

I'm diabetic.

My paternal grandfather died from advanced stage diabetes. He first lost his eyesight, then had one leg amputated, followed by the other. He took daily insulin shots with what could only be described as a hideously large "horse needle" every morning. He lived the final years of his life with a smile and a cheery personality that reflected how he lived life before succumbing to diabetes. I don't think I can be like my grandfather. I know I will be bitter if I have to change my diet and eat grass for the rest of my days. I hate it.

I hate being diabetic.

But, fuck it, I'm going to splurge BIG TIME this Thanksgiving! You better believe it. That's why I am thankful for the turkey--thankful that my favorite tasty meats don't have those shitty carbohydrates. At least I can eat meat. I will live off of delicious meat. I will hunt down meat like a starving zombie. I'm diabetic, but I'm not going to let it stop me from enjoying some of my favorite foods...

...even if it kills me.

~Andrew K.

Mary's Blog

This blog post is for Mary.

Saint Sophia Greek Orthodox Church

Mary, I met you at Saint Sophia's Greek Orthodox Church this past Sunday (Nov. 18, 2012). You sat in one of the back pews near me and my wife Ellaine. We didn't really speak or notice each other until after the church services had ended and we were walking out. You had stopped to speak to my grandma Victoria. Her English was as good as your Greek. I saw both of you trying to talk and, when I walked over, you engaged me in conversation.

I listened to you, Mary. Something so simple, yet so dear to you. You told me that you had 8 adult children and not one of them bothered to call or contact you. Your husband was a Greek doctor. He died at some point, but you didn't tell me from what. Your right arm was trembling terribly and it was hard for me to ignore. You told me that you are suffering from Lyme's Disease due to being bitten by either a white mouse or a tick from a mouse. I don't remember exactly what you said about contracting the disease other than it happened during one of your gardening sessions. From what you were saying to me, I could sense you are an educated and well-spoken woman. It was saddening to me to hear that not only did you lose your husband, but none of your children make any time for you. All you wanted was someone to listen.



Icon of Mary

You mentioned that you currently live in Shannondell. It seems like a well-to-do senior community from what I've researched online. I'm sorry that you feel isolated there. It is hard for me to imagine that you have no one to talk to—absolutely no one? Not even a friendly neighbor? You're a very amiable person and I don't understand why no one wants to (or seems not to want to) talk to you. You don't ask for much, just a sympathetic ear to listen to your story, your personal plight. I wish more people would be charitable with their time and lend you a few moment of conversation. I tried to talk to you, but grandma kept pulling me away. She thought you were crazy. She felt uncomfortable and wanted us to go. She didn't understand the Lyme's Disease and its effect on your nervous system. I apologized.

Mary, I promised I would try to help you in some way. I know you did not ask for money and I don't have any money to even treat my wife to a movie, but you were so gracious to offer money of your own just for having me listen to you. I kindly and respectfully turned down your offer, because that is not the Christian thing to do. I want to help you for no other reason than to bring some stability in your life and happiness. You seem like such a nice woman. I hope to see you in church again next Sunday, like we agreed.

I did some research online and found the following information that I hope and pray will help you:

Benjamin H. Wilson Senior Center
Address:	580 Delmont Ave. Warminster, PA 18974
Contact:	Jayne Taylor, Center Manager 215-672-8380
Web:	www.wilsonseniorcenter.com
Bensalem Senior Citizens Center
Address:	1850 Byberry Road Bensalem, PA 19020
Contact:	Bonnie Nase, Center Manager 215-638-7720
Bristol Township Senior Center
Address:	PO Box 1078 Levittown, PA 19058 2501 Bath Road, Bristol
Contact:	Bonnie Worth, Center Manager 215-785-6322
Web:	www.theyounginheart.com
Central Bucks Senior Center
Address:	700 Shady Retreat Rd. Doylestown, PA 18901
Contact:	Edward Shean, Center Manager 215-348-0565
Eastern Upper Bucks Seniors, Inc.
Address:	8040 Rt. 611, PO Box 545 Ottsville, PA 18942
Contact:	Kim Gaspar, Center Manager 610-847-8178
Falls Township Senior Center
Address:	282 Trenton Road P.O. Box 26 Fairless Hills, PA 19030
Contact:	Cecilia Murphy, Center Manager 215-547-6563
Web:	www.fallstwpseniorcenter.org
Lower Bucks Senior Activity Center
Address:	Wood and Mulberry Sts. Bristol, PA 19007
Contact:	Gail Aufschlag, Center Manager 215-788-9238
Middletown Senior Citizens Center
Address:	Former Municipal Bldg. - 2142 Trenton Rd. Levittown, PA 19056
Contact:	Lydia Konopka, Center Manager 215-945-2920
Morrisville Senior Servicenter
Address:	Borough Annex 31 E. Cleveland Ave. Morrisville, PA 19067
Contact:	Patt Schell, Center Manager 215-295-0567
Web:	www.morrisvilleseniors.org
Neshaminy Senior Citizens Center
Address:	1842 Brownsville Rd. Trevose, PA 19053
Contact:	Donna Kahhan, Center Manager 215-355-6967
Northampton Township Senior Center
Address:	165 Township Road Richboro, PA 18954
Contact:	Sheila Jobs, Center Manager 215-357-8199
Pennridge Senior Center
Address:	146 E. Main St. Silverdale, PA 18962 (Mailing Address: 146 East Main Street Perkasie, PA 18944-5421)
Contact:	Debbie Scollon, Center Manager 215-453-7027 215-453-7028

These are some of the Bucks County senior citizen centers and the contact information for each. I know you said that you don't have or use a computer, so maybe you can give them a telephone call and reach out. I look for more information and pass it along to you this coming Sunday. I only wish I could do more, but this is the best advice I can offer you:

• continue to take your medication for Lyme's Disease
• continue to go to church and stay for coffee hour
• continue to seek help and guidance from the Orthodox priests
• attend social events to meet more people (you'll find a sympathetic ear in the crowd)
• always look on the bright side of life and let not your heart be troubled

Even though your beloved husband passed away and none of your children bother to keep in touch, I hope you will not give up on this life and continue to live for yourself. Remember your gardening and the pleasure it brought you to raise and nurture flowers. Be the light and rain for those flowers. You have a purpose to your life and you should make the most of every day, even if you need to find quiet moment of happiness on your own. May God bless you and guide you to people who will listen. Don't lose faith.

Christ is with you always and you are not alone, Mary.

~Andrew K.

Guy Fieri is a Douchebag



Guy Fieri's show on the Food Network

 Diners, Drive-Ins, Dives, and Douchebags. That basically sums up the Food Network's show and the man who mocks the cooking program genre just by his mere presence.

Blond, spiked-mane, unkempt facial-haired host Guy Fieri is the antithesis of the high-quality food show hosts currently found on cable or satellite TV. His obnoxious attitude and disgusting eating habits have brought him some notoriety, but make him look like a buffoon.




Bourdain has disdain for Fieri


Guy Fieri lacks the "common man appeal" that Adam Richman has on Man Vs. Food or the intellectual capacity and sophistication of a well-travelled, true food connoisseur such as Anthony Bourdain in No Reservations or The Layover. Bourdain is a writer whose flair for words matches the often exotic feasts he samples in far-flung destinations. Bourdain does his thing for the love of food, culture, and the existential experience of fine dining. Fieri is a mocking mess of pop culture meets fast food. While Richman and Bourdain do not assert their cooking skills on camera, just watching Fieri cook his failed experiments in haute cuisine makes anyone with an apron seem like a culinary school graduate.

Guy Fieri displays the eating habits of a well-groomed swine.

 Guy Fieri is not even an elegant eater. Even if you consider the comical antics of Adam Richman's rather messy displays of competitive eating on his Travel Channel show, they pale in comparison to the snorting pig, mouth-stuffing gluttony of Guy's gastric habits. Who eats like that? Not even a famished man who has recently returned from a barren desert attacks food with such gaping-mouthed, saliva-slobbering embarrassment.

Guy Fieri is not a trained chef. He has no culinary credentials or even any cooking awards to his name. He's just another vapid TV personality who was paired with a cooking show to give the Food Network a reason to waste people's precious viewing time. Unless you're in a coma and helplessly bedridden in a hospital room, why would you ever want to watch Guy Fieri on the television?



A mammoth-sized ego is possessed by some men to compensate for their---well, you get the picture.


The man is an utter douchebag. Arrogant and self-absorbed are just two of the personality traits he displays in real-life settings. People who have worked for him, either on his television shows or in his restaurant, hold him in low esteem or with contempt. He is the very definition of a douchebag.




Hey, Guy! Why devalue that fridge with your autograph?


In the end, one has to consider why this man is even on TV to begin with. Seriously, why? Did the Food Network believe it was doing a charitable thing by employing this talentless bum? Would it not have been better to just leave Guy Fieri back on whatever street corner he was found so that he could do what he does best, which is spit-shining your automobile's windshield for some spare change? That's right, Guy. Just crawl back under the maggot-infested rock from where and whence you came, you porcupine-haired troglodyte! No one wants to see your glory-hole-sucking fat mouth on television anymore. So just hop on a moon-bound rocket with the entire Kardashian clan and take a one-way trip into outer space without your oxygen helmets, you punk-ass wannabe celebrities!

Guy Fieri is a douchebag! There, I said it. Defend him, if you can.

~Andrew K.

Custom Choppers

I remember a time when guys rode traditional motorcycles. Motorcycles they took pride in because they were built by their favorite manufacturers, such as Harley-Davidson, Indian, or Victory. The motorcycle company's reputation or iconic status was enough to get the rider his sought-after attention. But something changed over the years. It was not enough to have just any motorcycle. You had to have a custom bike. Like a volcanic explosion, custom choppers flexed their muscles and flowed on to the scene like stylish bad boys. Now you cannot escape them, because custom motorcycles are the standard---no longer the oddity.

One built in a garage from odd parts and welded together like some two-wheeled motoring Frankenstein's monster. Not only were the dimensions exaggerated, but the color schemes were outrageous. You needed to capture every eye as you rode down the American highway like some modern-day easy rider.

A popular expression used by dealers of custom choppers was "put something exciting between your legs." Nothing could be truer. Where tough guys congregate on chrome-shining steel beasts, so do the babes who love these wild-eyed, free-spirited, and untamed men. The chopper became a symbol of sex appeal. Virile guys who took command on their custom motorcycle were more likely to attract a hot babe than a some wimpy Hollywood wannabe hunk. Unless you had a hot set of wheels between your legs, you weren't considered a man.

The motorcycle was always a symbol of freedom, rebellion, and the counterculture. Ever since the days of Easy Rider with Peter Fonda, Dennis Hopper, and Jack Nicholson riding down a stretches of Southern and Southwestern roadways with the wind blowing through their hippie hairstyles, the classic bike became a part of Americana, like mom and apple pie.

The custom chopper nowadays is less about freedom, rebellion, and the counterculture and more about commercialism. The new bike you see on the roadways of suburbia are built by profit-minded individuals, fueled by their own creativity. Popular TV shows, like American Chopper, have boosted the image of the custom-built motorcycle and brought it to a wide swath of fans, from die-hard enthusiasts to novice biker aspirants. Choppers are now being built with corporate logos, such as insurance company GEICO, video game developers for Gears of War, and even high-end automobile manufacturer Cadillac.

Yet the corporate logo is not a badge of honor. Custom bikes have become less about the rider and more about the message they are promoting. Adorning these motorcycles with flashy colors and other types of fancy bells and whistles have turned them into show pieces rather than pleasure-riding machines. The bike was meant to be a road companion like the family dog is a home companion. In the past, a spiked collar was the only accessory you needed to put on your pet, but now---just like with these custom choppers---you have ridiculous gear that only puts shame and humiliation on your four-legged friend. So why do we embellish our motorbikes like we embarrass our dogs? It's just humanity's vain attempt to say: "Look at me!"

In the final analysis, the motorcycle will always be a means of transportation for the rider and perhaps one piggyback passenger. You can ride a classic bike built by Harley-Davidson or straddle one of those garrish motorcycles customized by Orange County Choppers or Paul Jr. Designs, but you will always get from point A to point B in bad boy style. It all depends on how many eyes you want staring or glaring back at you as your rip down the road on your polished-chrome-and-steel-hide horse. Giddyup!

~Andrew K.

The Work-Weekend-Work Cycle

The weekend. Two wistful days of bliss for the 9-to-5 worker. Saturday and Sunday. Or as I like to call them: "Sat-down-day" and "Fun-day." Two full days of rest and relaxation. Forty-eight hours of do-what-you-like. Even if you minus a couple hours for going to church on Sunday morning, you still have time to relax later on. Two days of recharging the human batteries. Time to remember you are a human and not a remotely-controlled machine dedicated to making your employer a daily profit. No, the weekend is your time and it's my time. But what if that time was intruded upon by the corporate world?

As many of us who work for big companies or global corporations know, the hourly pay clock keeps ticking as long as we keep working. Therefore, we take as much as we can get--before Uncle Sam steals his greedy portion--and come in to work on weekends for that juicy overtime pay. But it is worth it?

I have to ask myself that question. Of course, when I'm in need of money, yes--it's worth my time to come in and work on a Saturday or Sunday. Hard economic times dictate employment decisions. However, now that I'm married, my personal time becomes more and more important to me. I want to spend more time with my wife, not trapped in a prison-like cubicle staring at four gray wall panels. My wife and I don't have any children yet, but when we do, I don't want to miss a single moment without them. Don't get me wrong, I'm a very dedicated worker. I like to leave after my shift is over knowing that my day's work was put forth with my best effort. I take pride in my work. My diligence and work performance has never come to be questioned by any of my employers, past or present. So, what has changed?

Time has changed. Days seems shorter now than when I was younger. Even I have changed. I'm not as fast as I used to be, I acknowledge that fact. It's not a medical condition, unless you factor in what sleep apnea has done to me physically. Oh, the desire is there! The mind is willing even if the body is weak. I can work and plan to work until such time as when I believe I am no longer functioning at full (physical or mental) capacity. That's not what is troubling me, something else concerns me about this work-weekend-work cycle.

The decline in the quality of life, that's it. I need to work to earn money. When I earn money, I can feed and clothe my family as well as pay bills and keep a roof over our heads. I'm not complaining about that fact. I'm concerned about my quality of life when I spend most of the work day with people (i.e., co-workers) I hardly care about. I guess I would not be so concerned if I had my own small business, such as a pizzaria, and my family owned and operated the business. We would be together all the time while also making money to support ourselves. And maybe that is the answer to happiness, to balancing life with work-related responsibilities. To own your own business and be your own boss, the dream of many, but the reality of few.

The truth of life is that we all work for someone else, even if that someone else is just a monolithic corporate face or company logo. Like pledging allegiance to the American flag, so do we pledge our very existence to the business taskmaster--the overlord of our lives--the one who controls and doles out the paycheck. This is the never-ending cycle we cannot change, like life and death. There is no room in this world for the lazy or the useless. Work, my son--work to eat and survive. You have no life beyond that daily routine. Though the work week is long, just remember that the weekend is the only chance you have to truly feel like you are alive. Work for the weekend, everybody's doing it.

~Andrew K.

Star Wars Episode 7

Star Wars fanboys (and fangirls) now have a new reason to rejoice...or do they? The surprise announcement that production will start on a new Star Wars movie due in theaters sometime in the year 2015---a third trilogy starting with Episode 7 and following the original trilogy focusing on characters Han Solo, Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia---has caused a pleasant disturbance in the Force. But what can fans expect?

Well, first off, fans can expect a new Rogue Squadron leader as Star Wars creator George Lucas not only steps down as director, but he has sold the entire Star Wars franchise to Disney. What's that you say...?

We hear you, Lord Vader. NOOOOO!!! That's exactly how we feel about the deal. Though Disney is successful in turning a profit with almost any animation it puts on the silver screen, Disney is also known for mercilessly destroying stories they borrowed from other sources, such as ripping off The Little Mermaid from the original fairy tale composed by Hans Christian Andersen. Disney does to classics what the Death Star did to Alderaan. You can almost hear millions of helpless voices crying out in terror, then suddenly being silenced. Silenced, because nothing can be done. It was Lucas's creation---his marketing Empire---and he sold it. Or "sold out" to an even more evil marketing Empire, i.e., the Disney Corporation stormtroopers. Just imagine the sad display of Darth Vader battling Mickey Mouse in a lightsaber fight scene. It would probably look something like this...

As if the beloved Star Wars franchise didn't have enough dignity stripped away from its original epic storyline with the introduction of those irritating, slobbering, dinosaur-like Gungans, now we will have Mickey and crew to contend with. But Disney did not start the decline of the Star Wars empire, oh no---that came with the introduction of Jar Jar Binks!

Yes, I'm bringing up Jar Jar Binks. Is there anyone in the entire galaxy---even in the Outer Rim territories---who doesn't find that juvenile Gungan utterly annoying? Is there anyone who doesn't think Jar Jar Binks isn't the sole reason why the prequel trilogy (at least the first two episodes) was a failure? That's right, I'm putting the blame on Jar Jar. Mesa ruin Star Wars. You sure did, idiot. George Lucas is to blame for Jar Jar, but what can we expect from Disney? What politically correct character will they thrust upon the Star Wars fandom? Who knows, but I already see a phantom menace on the horizon. I think Luke sees it too...

One thing is for sure, a new Star Wars movie will be greeted with much enthusiasm from long-time sci-fi fans. I think, in the end, most people will give Disney a chance to see what they can do with the legacy that Lucas has left for his millions of devotees. Will Disney take up the lightsaber and blaze a new path for the Star Wars universe and its diverse denizens? Or will the Mickey Mouse House drive the final nail in the sci-fi coffin of a once-great modern-day mythology?

Time will tell, but one thing is certain---Star Wars fans are a picky bunch. Any discernable flaw in filming or any inconsistency in character creation or any uninspiring CGI sequence will likely turn the new movie---and the subsequent episodes---into unwatchable fiascos. Star Wars fans will rip Disney apart like a ravenous Rancor. The following two films will be turned into Banthan fodder by the fanboys. And the sci-fi legacy will be thrown into the Sarlacc pit, never to be seen or heard from again.

Do not let the indignity of Boba Fett's demise similarly fall upon the last remnants of the Star Wars mythos. Let there be a new hope that the Disney empire strikes back with a solid movie hit, so that fans may return to the Jedis (and Sith) with renewed joy and celebration, much like on Endor with those cuddly furball Ewoks.

May the Force be with the new Star Wars Episode VII.

~Andrew K.